


Fortune Cookies

by HeyMcRaely



Category: Joker (2019)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-23
Updated: 2020-02-23
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:28:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22853968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeyMcRaely/pseuds/HeyMcRaely
Summary: At some point you just have to pretend you can cure insomnia with late-night takeout.
Relationships: Arthur Fleck/You
Comments: 2
Kudos: 14





	Fortune Cookies

**Author's Note:**

> An ode to Arthur's kitchen floor and all the nights I spent on mine growing up. Drawn from a childhood filled with the cozy intimacy of sharing takeout dinners. This was the first thing I wrote after visiting the Joker stairs/Arthur's apartment in the Bronx; Hua Zhuo used to be a Chinese food place down the block from there. Many hearts to my friend Hannah for beta-reading.

The light over the sink is blue–blue like the color of his eyes sometimes. Right now he breaks a fortune cookie in two and you’ve been swimming in cerulean for a while. 

It had started with takeout–your suggestion. You’d been woken by the living room light the door let in. You’d crept to the hallway; Arthur was pacing, touching his face, insomnia racing. “Have you eaten?” A head-shake, he gave a vague whine. “Hua Zhuo's still open.” It was 3:39.

He wouldn’t let you go alone. Over pjs coats were thrown. You hurried out around the block. There was grease on the counter and five minutes on the clock. 

They passed you your order bagged up to go, with some end-of-night extras but you didn’t know. Back in Arthur’s kitchen you went to unpack, you pulled out the napkins and there in the bag, were two fortune cookies that you had paid for, and underneath them, about twenty more. 

Dizzy with sleep and high on your laughter, the night fell apart and jumbled together. You sunk to the floor, sat against cabinets, legs getting tangled in love and in happiness.

So many futures you two are unfolding, all your tomorrows laid out on linoleum. “I’ll pick one for you, you pick one for me.” Arthur smiles so wide your heart skips a beat. He holds the bag out, he gives it a shake. You reach without looking, and he does the same.

He gets his open while you’re fumbling, a snap like a bone, and then him mumbling. He takes a deep breath, dark eyebrows are furrowed: ”Right now you hold what most are lucky to borrow.”

He looks up at you, shy and confused, sees your hand on your mouth, sees that your eyes are glued to the paper you hold, your eyes welling up. “What is it?” he asks, voice gentle and hushed.

You unstick your throat, blink tears back and read: “Comedians stand up for anybody.”

The blue kitchen light does that thing to his eyes, he scrambles to kiss you, and the two of your slide to the floor til you’re flat, fortunes catch in your hair, like they are confetti and you are the air. Spangled in futures and hopes and surprise–all yours and Arthur’s in the sudden sunrise.


End file.
